


The Legend Of Killer King

by Scarlet_Cross



Series: Written in the Sand [3]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Dark, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, This is reallllyyy AU so if youre expecting straight up killjoys cannon this is not the place to be, Time Skips, Violence, i mean its like not fucked up but its pretty dark when you think about it, its pretty explicit so if youre not about that life i'd skip this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 14:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Cross/pseuds/Scarlet_Cross
Summary: He was given a life he never wanted. She was pulled into a life she never expected. Brendon and Sarah have a long way to travel if they're going to find home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is part 3 of a series and 10/10 would recommend reading the first 2 so you can understand the universe and whats going on in this story. This fic skips around in time a lot for flashbacks, but don't worry about it too much. Also a key for the languages spoken- regular text for dialogue: the desert common tongue, Italics: the city language, Boldface Italics: The scarecrow language

Brendon watched in enchanted wonder as his mother carefully rubbed yellow makeup around the rims of her eyes. She looked into a small shard of mirror as her fingers danced gracefully across her face, spreading the yellow all over. It looked thick and itchy. He rubbed his own warm cheeks as she smoothed black kohl across her lips, tapering it out into thin lines across her cheeks. He reached out and tugged gently on the feather soft hair at the bottom of her braid. 

“ **_Momma, why do you put that face on?_ ** ” he asked.

Her lips stretched wide into a smile under the black as she pulled him into her lap. She smoothed his long, unruly hair with her fingers and began to braid his brown locks. She hummed softly while she worked, finishing quickly and tying the bottom with scraps of thread. She picked up the shard of mirror from earlier and adjusted it so he could look at the now tamed hair just barely going over his shoulders.

“ **_You’ll wear the paint too, someday,_ ** ” His mother adjusted the mirror so it captured both of their faces.

“ **_When?_ ** ” Brendon’s small face looked so rough and blotchy compared to his mother’s, to all the adults in his tribe. Their faces smooth and even, the makeup a glossy mirror of perfection.

“ **_When you’re older, baby._ ** ” She kissed his cheek, leaving black smudges on his wind chapped skin.

**…**

The red dirt glistened as it stuck to Brendon’s toes. It was tacky, blood moistening it so the brassy dirt turned rusty and alive. It was still warm, the Desert sun heating it even though it had been spilled nearly an hour ago. Brendon bent down, picking up the corpse at his feet. He hefted it over his shoulder with practiced ease and carried it across the wide expanse of the Desert plain to the pile of other bodies he and Spencer had been collecting.

“ **_That’s the last one on my side,_ ** ” Spencer announced as he tossed the body of a teenage boy, not much older then to two Scarecrows themselves, onto the small pile.

“ **_Same._ ** ” Brendon scratched at the back of his neck, freeing wispy strands of hair loose from his braid.

The corpse he had carried rolled down on top of the body Spencer had just thrown down. There were a dozen bloodied bodies stacked up in their little pile. Their eyes all glassy, bleached blonde hair matted with blood, their mouths ajar like a frozen scream. Most of the bodies were mangled from the fight as well, their black shirts ripped and bright trousers dulled with the brown of drying blood. Both Scarecrows also had blossoms of their victims’ blood spattering their clothing; some from the fight, most from lugging the bodies into a pile. Brendon wiped at the sweat on his forehead, the back of his hand coming away with blood and yellow paint.

“ **_Fucking Dirt Traitors,_ ** ” Spencer growled as he produced a flint from his robe.

This part always moved in slow motion for Brendon. The fire slowly growing, starting as a spark and eating at the damp clothing on the corpses. Flames licking dead flesh and consuming the entire pire the two had set up. They stood and watched on in the heat of the fire combined with the sweltering Desert air. A slight breeze drifted through the air, stoking the fire. The warm wind ghosted between the two, making the robes of both boys flutter around them.

“ **_Your first killing_ ** ” Brendon pat his friend on the back “ **_Looks like you can lay claim to the Face of Destroya now._ ** ”

Spencer smiled, the last time black and yellow paste wouldn’t cover the heat flush in his cheeks. “ **_Thanks, Killer King. What an honor to hear that from you._ ** ” Friendly sarcasm dripping from every word.


	2. Chapter 2

Brendon woke abruptly with a start from his dream. He did not dream of his former life often, and he worked hard to think of it in his waking hours even less. He tried to wash the lingering dream from his mind, running his finger through short, unbraided hair. The sky above them was just beginning to turn pale shades of red, orange, and yellow. He lifted his chin to watch them grow and become more violent and ferocious. The colors of the Desert were always so bright, so demanding. It was something he never fully appreciated before his time in the city. Across their little camp from him Sarah still slept, only the glowing coals of the fire separating them. Her breathing was peaceful and even. 

They had traveled long and far the day before, as they had done every other day since they left the Killjoys. They started heading North originally, through a vast expanse of Desert Brendon had never traveled before. It was an unknown wasteland. It was safer that way, if he didn’t know the land it meant no other Crows did. With it being just the two of them, they couldn’t afford to meet with his tribe again. He was a known traitor and they would be treated as such.

Sarah lead the way- a makeshift compass she had foraged from city scraps left scattered in the sand to aid her. After the moon had bloomed and faded twice she ended up leading them so far North they ran into a gushing river pouring through a deep canyon. Brendon was terrified at the sight. Never before had he seen so much water in his life. It couldn’t be natural and certainly not of Destroya, the Goddess of sand and rock and heat. She couldn’t have wanted this wet chaos. 

Nonetheless they ended up traveling along it for the next week or so. Sarah managed to convince Brendon only because of how easy it made their trip. Once they had made it to the bottom of the canyon collecting water from the river rather than rationing it from a dozen different sources and hunting the small game that came to drink proved to out weight Brendon’s discomfort. They soon left its company though when they ran into Cobra territory. They were a coalition of loosely united families that ran along the Northern region of the mountains; further up the range than the Killjoys had been and nowhere near as friendly. 

They were headed back down South now. Down through the mountains to what used to be Killjoy territory. It was open land now. The Cobras didn’t occupy valleys so far South and the Scarecrows weren’t likely to travel into a land with no people to attack. The pair had decided it would make a good base for their wonderings. Why not occupy it? It was habitable, they knew it was. The many generations of Killjoys having lived there could prove that. Almost more importantly though, the pair could go days, weeks, months before they saw another person, Draculoid, or tribe. 

The harsh colors of dawn were just beginning to fade into rosey shades of pinks, blues, and purples by the time Sarah started to stir. She came to consciousness gradually, mumbling nonsensical thing to herself and stretching sleep sore muscles.

“ _ Do we need to hunt for food today? _ ” She asked with a small yawn.

Brendon looked into his pack, “ _ Not for game, but anything scavengable would not go amiss. _ ” 

That was it, that was all they needed to say. They began their daily routine: Brendon broke camp as Sarah kicked dirt into the last coals of the fire, smothering it and burying the evidence of their camp. Then they started out, heading down a rough trail to the bottom of the mountain. By noon they hit the valley floor, not stopping for food, only eating on the way. Gathering what little they could find for later, especially water, anywhere it was seen, heard or smelt.

It was easy to smell in this part of the mountains. Sarah never thought she’d be able to do it, but it only took a week or so out in the Desert for her to be able to smell water. The wet earth and damp mold like a rich bouquet in the barren Desert. It was irresistible. It was her nose that lead them to a cave worn in by habitation, with walls slick with water. 

They were far enough South now to be in old Killjoy territory and it was was obvious someone had once used this cave. Scraps of cloth and metal bits left in odd places, dried splatters of blood littered the ground, so common of Killjoys. The duo stopped, taking refuge in the cave from the searing heat of the sun. They restocked their water supply with the slow dribble of water sliding down the cave wall.

“ _ We could just camp here tonight. _ ” Sarah suggested. 

“ _ Alright, yeah _ .” Brendon agreed. 

In this valley they had reached their destination. Maybe this cave could even become their home base. He pulled his pack off his back and began to pull out their meager supplies. As the two settled in for the night Sarah pulled her blanked out from her own bag, one of the few relics of comfort the Killjoys had managed to spare for them when they left the diner.

Brendon set about to make a fire, the cave would protect them from the whipping winds of the Desert at night, but a chill would still set in. It would be just enough the cold would be uncomfortable to sleep without a fire. He stoked the flames to life, the crackle of dry cactus and tumbleweeds was soon the only noise between them.

They used to talk more when they had first left the city, when they were just in that big dusty pit. Sarah spent hours talking to Brendon, about nothing and everything, about her life in the city and how their life in the Desert would be. At first she told herself it was more so he could learn her language better. And he did. He did very well. But now the lapses between talking and silence had grown longer, but no more uncomfortable. She knew now that her initial constant talking was for fear of silence, but it was unfounded. They didn't always need words. A facial expression or a hand gesture was all they needed to communicate. There was a symphony between them in the gaps between words. 

She raised her eyes from the fire to meet Brendon’s gaze. They were light and he quirked his lips up in a half hearted smile. An expression of a playful invitation, his eyes drifted to the spot next to himself. She gathered her blanket up about her and moved from across the fire to sit with him. They sat warm and placid in each other's arms the crackling blaze complimenting the soft noises of desert life outside their cave.

“ _ Will you speak to me? _ ” she asked.

Brendon raised an eyebrow, “ _ About what? _ ”

“ _ Anything, but say in your language. You learned my whole language, and I’ve hardly heard a word of yours. _ ”

He balked. She had never once made a request like this before. Back when he had first been brought to the city he had been forbidden to speak in his own tongue. Everytime he did he was shocked violently; sometimes he would even pass out from it. After a few rounds of that he quickly learned not to speak at all until he began to pick out the few beginnings of the city language. The little threads he could tie together from his mandated lessons and the small talk those working on him had in the lab on the other side of the thick glass of his cage. 

After a moment he opened his mouth and spoke in his thick language. It was harsh and coarse and grated against Sarah’s ears. She didn't see how any human could make those sounds, speak an entire language like this. But all the same his eyes were kind.

“ _ What did you say? _ ” She asked when he was done.

“ _ You remind me of my mother quite often. _ ”

Amused, Sarah asked, “ _ Is that a good thing? _ ” .

“ _ Yes, _ ” Brendon laughed “ _ It's a very good thing. You remind me of her because she wanted me to be better than I was. _ ”

“ _ What happened to her? _ ”

He spoke again in his language, this time his eyes lacking the same brightness and his mouth slid slowly down.

This was another time too when Sarah did not need words to know what he was saying. She let the conversation rest at that. Soon they both drifted off into sleep, the exhaustion of the day and warmth of each other’s bodies sending them swiftly into their respective dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

The rag felt rough and scratchy on the soft skin of Brendon’s face. It left a clean, moist trail on his cheeks as it soaked up the grime, blood, and tears off his skin. He continued to cry silent tears as his mother cleaned his face and body. When she was satisfied with his face she dipped the rag back into the bucket and rung it out before starting again on his neck and shoulders, down to his chest and arms. She cleaned him from head to toe cleansing him of all the gore he was caked in. His whole body was trembling still with his silent sobs; not daring to make a noise.

When she was finally done, she set the rag back into the bucket and rinsed her own hands in the now muddy-colored water. She wiped the bloody water on the lower half of her own cloak before taking Brendon’s chin in her hand. He was still shorter than her, by nearly a head; she jerked his chin up to meet his eyes. She wiped his tear stained eyes with the pad of her thumb.

“ **_Don’t cry my little King,_ ** ” She cooed with a soft voice that was much warmer than her eyes were.

Brendon opened his mouth, willing himself to speak in words not sobs, “ **_They were younger than me… They were just so… they bled so much._ ** ”

She cut him off, “ **_It does not matter their age. You serve Destroya and you will be the greatest to serve her in a long line. The Wise Women have foreseen a great future for you._ ** ”

Brendon hugged his mother, clinging to her for support. She held him for a moment. Then she pulled him away then wiped his eyes again.

“ **_Come, this is a day for celebration, not tears. It is the day of your First Blood._ ** ” With a gentle smile, she pulled from the folds of her robe her own compact of paint and began to apply it to his face. “ **_Now you have earned the right._ ** ”


	4. Chapter 4

The coals of the fire were still smoldering under ashen piles as Brendon woke. He carefully untangled his arm from the blanket and bedding entwining his body with Sarah’s to rub the grit and sand from his face. Sarah laid with her body draped over his, her head pillowed into his chest. Brandon could feel the soft expansions of her chest indicating she was still well asleep. Fingers of sun were slowly crawling their way across the cave floor, bringing small animals out to bask in the warmth. He allowed himself to lay just a few moments longer, not wanting to wake Sarah in the early morning with his rising.

The two had found their cave nearly a month ago, but it had only been the start of their valley life. First they had needed to survey the surrounding land for all resources. It had been fruitful, there was enough game and plants to sustain them for a few seasons at least. Sarah had even mentioned plans of something she called farming, using the land and water to grow their own pants to live off. If they managed that they could stay in this valley together and alone forever.

It wasn’t long before Sarah woke and the two started on their daily work. They gathered wood for the night’s fire together, Bendon worked to tan the skins of their game and dry the meat, Sarah adjusted her water collection contraption and consulted her notes on where and how they should go about farming. The heat of the day became pressing and almost too hot by the time they finished the bulk of their work. The two retreated to their cave for a meal and rest.

The rest of their work could be left until the sun climbed back down the sky and the heat faded into the twilight with it.

“ _You did not!_ ” Sarah laughed around a mouthful of jackrabbit.

Brendon smirked as he pulled another leg of meat off the carcass, “ _Yes I did, we took Ryan’s robes and he was trapped inside his tent all day until his mother came back that night._ ”

“ _So he missed the whole hunt?_ ” She asked still giggling.

“ _Well he couldn’t just run around naked, could he? Me and Spencer caught hell when Ryan’s mother found us.”_

_“You two were so mean.”_

_“We all played pranks on each other, it came in fair amounts to me too,”_ Brendon assured her.

They often swapped stories over meals. Sarah would tell him about growing up in the city, she had many siblings and they always managed to get into trouble, but never too much they couldn’t get away from the Drac street patrols. It fascinated Brendon to hear about the city in a different light. His brief time there hadn’t allowed for much sightseeing, or pleasure of any kind for that matter. Sarah in turn was mystified about Brendon’s life before. He had to be careful about what he told her. She knew he had been ruthless in many ways before they met, but he didn’t want her to see him as the monster he used to be. The hollow machine, shell of a person that had served Destroya and protected his tribe with little regard for anything, or anyone, else. Instead he regaled his childhood, telling about old pranks and secrets. When he felt like flesh and bone rather than desert sand and the blood soaked through it. When his mother was alive and wiped the sorrow from his heart with laughter.

The afternoon passed pleasantly swapping stories, like it always did, until the sun sank low enough for them to resume their chores. Brendon emerged from the cave hands itching to repair a snare on the other side of the valley when an ominous feeling settled on his shoulders. It sat and pressed down on him with the weight of hidden eyes watching his every move.

“ _Wait hold on Sar-”_ he began before a flurry of movement descended from above.

A figure with bleached hair, a back cloth wrapped around the lower half of their face, black shirt and bright green trousers landed in front of him. He barely had time to register the person was holding a knife in a fighting stance when another figure landed next to them with the same clothing, the only difference being their pants were a pinkish hue.

“ **_Dirt Traitors_ **,” Brendon spat in surprise as the two charged him.

The figure with the green pants reached him first, slashing out with their blade in hand. Brendon quickly recoiled, he was caught off balance by the surprise of it all, but soon found his footing. He had no weapon on his own, but he manage to dodge and parry incoming jabs with his arms and legs. He also managed to shuffle the fight away from the cave entrance so Sarah had a chance to get away. They had planned for this, a rendezvou point a few miles into the mountains they would meet at if they were ever attacked.

On the next slice Brendon’s movement was just a second too slow and the metal cut into his flesh, blood blossoming on his skin. He feigned distraction at the injury and Pink Pants foolishly took it as an opening. They jumped in closer, close enough Brendon’s lightning fast reflexes rendered a blade useless. He disarmed Pink Pants, taking the weapon for his own use, and knocked an elbow to the temple of the now defenseless fighter. They slumped unconscious into the dirt and moments after the first body hit the desert floor Brendon had Green Pants pinned face down next to them.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice called from behind as Brendon raised the knife for a killing blow.

He looked over in the direction of the voice, towards the cave, a third Lowlander clad in their traditional garb, with red pants as his distinction, held Sarah. One arm around her torso keeping her in place and one hand holding a knife to her throat. Brendon immediately jumped off the body below him and started towards Sarah.

“That’s close enough, Killer King” the Lowlander sneered, pressing the blade ever so slightly into Sarah’s tender flesh.

Brendon stopped in his tracks, “What do you want? She hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Oh, but we both know you’ve done and great many things. Enough for the both of you.”

“If you let her go I will let you kill me with your own two hands,” Brendon offered. “I swear it on the name of Destroya.”

“A tempting offer,” the Lowlander mused, “But there is only one way to provide proper justice for our whole tribe.” their eyes shifted from Brendon to something behind him, “Alex, it you would.”

Brendon managed a half turn before a hard _thunk_ landed on the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.


	5. Chapter 5

The ground rolled sluggishly below him when Brendon woke. He let out a long groan as the pain pulsing in his head pulled him faster out of his sleep. His hands were bound and his feet and legs dragged across the rocky terrain. His upper body was propped up in a piece of canvas as two Lowlanders dragged it and his limp form along.

“Hey, he’s up!” a voice called.

A third, fourth, and fifth Lowlanders appeared to adjust Brendon’s bindings. He was yanked from the tarp they had carried him on and had his feet partially bound so he could walk with short steps. Next they tied a noose around his neck and ropes around his torso so he could be lead from his hands, neck, and waist. Brendon was still fighting to orientate himself though the whole process, when they gave him a final shove to start walking he only barely managed not to fall. As he regained his balance, Brendon looked over and saw Sarah bound similarly, though only with hands and feet. A wave of relief washed over him at seeing her unharmed and alive. 

“ _ Brendon, what is going on? Who are these people?”  _ she asked frantically.

He took a deep inhale, fighting the nausea welling in his stomach, “ _ They call themselves Lowlanders, and they have a long history with my people. _ ”

**…**

The walk back to Lowlander territory was long and uneventful. The quiet of the their travels was augmented only by Brendon’s retelling of the Scarecrows and Lowlanders shared history. According to legend, Brendon said, their tribes had once been one; united in their lands, culture and belief in Destroya. The spilling of blood wasn’t uncommon among different Desert groups, but a faction of the Scarecrows disagreed with the killing of innocents to obtain it. Generations before Brendon’s birth, that faction broke off to become the Lowlanders and there had been bad blood between the two ever since.

“ _ We call them Dirt Traitors because they left us and the sunlight to bury themselves in the ground.”  _ Brendon finished.

By now they had made it to what looked like a Lowlander city, and Sarah could see now how they had earned both their common name and their Scarecrow bastardization. It sat in a deep bowl in the hard packed earth with nothing be dusty plains surrounding it for miles. Dug into the steep, sloping walls of the bowl was a network of stairs leading to dugout homes and other dwellings. In the center and more leveled potion of the bowl there were adobe structures of plastered mud. It was one of these huts that the two were released into, no windows and a door of dried wood. A jail cell Sarah realized.

“ _ A family rivalry, I can understand that, but they seemed pretty intent on hating you specifically.”  _ Sarah had spent a few lazy, evening hours with Brendon teaching her the Desert’s common tongue, and she certainly wasn’t fluent but she didn’t need to be to hear the sheer loathing in the voice of the Lowlander with red pants. 

In the faint light creeping in through the cracks in the door Sarah could see Brendon rub the back of his neck for a long moment before he spoke. “ _ There are many parts from by life before I haven’t told you about.”  _

She had guessed as much, the stories they had shared never went passed a certain age. There was certainly a gap in her knowledge because the Brendon described in those stories was very different from the feral man she first laid eyes on in the BL/ind lab.

“ _ I have killed a great many people,” _ he began again after another pause, “ _ It’s difficult to describe, that whole era of my life is hazy. All Scarecrows are raised to be killers and to kill from a birth, but I was… chosen to be some kind of savoir, the hands of Destroya, and I never wanted that.” _

Sarah mulled over this new information before she spoke again, “ _ You’re the figure head for everything they hate.” _

Brendon nodded grimly in the darkened room as the setting sun swallowed the daylight.


	6. Chapter 6

The soreness and cramping of kneeling too long crept into Brendon’s muscles slowly pulling him from sleep. In his sleep laided mind, he tired adjusting his legs so he no longer sat under them, but found them restricted, constrained by winding rope. His conscious came quickly rushing back now, registering that his hands were bound too and tethered to stretch his arms over a stone. Eyes snapping open Brendon finally came into full realization of his situation. Around him there was the flames circling him illuminated the familiar faces of his friends and family, his tribe. An arena of artfully painted and carefully blank faces stared back at Brendon as he whipped his head around looking for some kind of explanation. He knew exactly where he was, the arena they used on the Day of Destroya and other holy days. The arena where they spilt blood to honor their god, the rock his arms were pulled out on the place where their sacrifice’s blood fell. 

“ **_Spencer!_ ** ” Brendon cried out, seeing his friend in the crowd. The war paint on his face still fresh and foreign, the right to wear it only newly won. “ **_Help me, please._ ** ”

Spencer made no move towards Brendon, nothing about him changed. His face stayed stoney and silent.

He scanned the crowd again finding another friend, “ **_Ryan, Ryan please help me. I don’t know what’s happening._ ** ” 

Again the boy made no move.

Exasperated and near hysterical, Brendon tried to get up, to yank his arms to his body. He had torn though rope before, if he could get his arms free he might be able to unravel his legs enough to fight. Enough to stand a chance. Enough to die on his feet. He tugged feebly at the binding, but his muscles were sluggish and like putty. The idea that someone must have given him one of the Wise Women’s concoctions swam in the back of his mind as his body continued not to respond. Hot tears began to roll down his cheeks at the futility of his actions. He didn’t understand, he didn’t want to die.

“ **_Shhhh, there there my little king,_ ** ” his mother’s voice rolled smoothly over his anxieties.

Her warm hand gilded up his back, to his neck then finally to his face to wipe away the tears. She floated into his vision and cupped his face in her hands. Her calm and even face relieved Brendon as she leaned in to kiss his a forehead, a gesture she had not done in many years. A stiff silence still filled to night air as she drifted to kneel in front of Brendon, on the opposite side of the stone his arms were stretched over. She lifted her own arms to lay across his, clasping his bicep so their forearms lay stacked on top of eachother on the stone. 

“ **_What… what is happening? What are we doing?_ ** ” Brendon asked, his mother’s loving eyes didn’t fit the tone of anything else happening tonight.

A soft breeze rippled her hair as she spoke, “ **_All your life I have told you that you will serve Destroya, be the greatest in a long line._ ** ”

“ **_And tonight,_ ** ” the aged and grating voice of one of their Wise Women interjected, “ **_Is the beginning of your destiny._ ** ”

Brendon watched bewildered as The Wise Woman who had spoken began to bind his mother’s wrists to his bicep, reinforcing her own grip. Two more Wise Women appeared in the corners of his version, pacing the circle of spectators speaking in a low hum, too quite to make out the words. They circled the crowd, walking opposite directions so they criss crossed each other every half revolution. The crowd picked up the hum the two were saying, a low murmur slowing growing to a dull roar. Satisfied with her knots, the first Wise Woman sat down adjacent to Brendon on the side of the stone altar. She pulled a ceremonial knife from her robes and the panic returned to Brendon’s mind. She held it aloft, eyes closed and mouthing silent words in prayer.

“ **_Body, blood, and spirit. Body, blood, and spirit._ ** ”

The voices of the crowd had finally become loud enough Brendon could decipher what they were saying. 

“ **_Blood of the same line flow as one. Blood of the same line flow as one._ ** ”

Half of the crowd was chanting one of the phrases while the other half chanted the other. The two Wise Women still stalked the edge of the circle, each chanting one line. They were leading the crowd with each turn. The fingers on Brendon’s bicep tightened in earnest pulling his attention from the gathered spectators. 

“ **_Body, blood, and spirit. Blood of the same line flow as one._ ** ” His mother chanted along with the crowd. Her eyes were urgent, pleading with him to speak the words too.

Hesitantly he joined in as the kneeling Wise Woman moved the delicate ceremonial blade rhythmically. The flat of the blade taped in time with the symphony of words, flying from Brendon’s and his mother’s conjoined arms, to his neck, their arms, his mother’s neck then again and again it repeated. With each passing cycle Brendon could feel his muscles tighten and his words grown fainter in until they died in his mouth. 

All at once, as soon as he stopped saying the words, the three Wise Women threw their arms in the air and all fell silence. The knife drifted down to press at Brendon’s neck again, except this time it was not the polished, flat side. The honed edge glided into the tender skin just below his ear, a shallow graze, but he could still feel as hot blood welled to the surface and dribbled down the side of his neck. He braced himself for the killing blow that was sure to follow, but it never came. Instead the blade moved to his right forearm, cutting through the skin on both his and his mother’s arm. 

“ **_Body, bloody, and spirit. Blood of the some line flow as one._ ** ” She hissed out as their blood ebbed out of their skin together onto to the stone. 

In one vicious, yet almost loving movement, the Wise Woman thrust his mother’s head forward so it was nearly touching his. Her neck directly over the stone, the Wise Woman raked the knife ear to ear across his mother’s neck. He watched as the loving glow in her eyes flickered to pain, as she coughed and spat blood onto his face. He could feel her warm life essence splashing on the stone and his arms. 

“ **_No! Mom, no!_ ** ” Brendon began to struggle again as the crowd began their chanting again and the two Wise Woman resumed their pacing. 

“ **_Say the words,_ ** ” the Wise Woman with the knife said. Her tone was even and unheated, but there was a sense of urgency. “ **_There has been a plan for you since your birth and she has been preparing you for it. If you do not fulfill it her death is for nothing and you dishonor her memory._ ** ”

Brendon looked at her slumped figure, eyes glassy and face smooth and expressionless. “ **_Body, bloody, and spirit. Blood of the same line flow as one._ ** ” The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

“ **_Destroya, the boy humbly presents himself to you. With blood of the same line, they flow as one, accept their offering and make this boy your disciple in body, blood, and spirit._ ** ” With those final words she pulled the knife over his left forearm, the bloody rushed from his but only dripped from his mother’s.

The wind began to blow, fierce and angry. It whipped out the torches plunging the arena into darkness. There were scattered screams, and Brendon could hear the rustle of clothing and padding of feet that was a tell tale sign of bodies fleeing. Sand came pouring in with the wind, chafing his skin and embedding itself in the cuts on his neck and arms. The stone below his arms began to emit an unnatural warmth, like it was sun warmed, but a thousand times hotter. The burning heat ran into the cuts on his arms and up into his shoulders then finally to his torso and legs. The sand grated and scraped its way into his blood and he could feel it like razors wrap around his brain. He screamed out in agony as he was scorched and torn apart from the inside out.

“ **_There, there my little king,_ ** ” a echoy, female voice crooned. As it spoke he could feel phantom hands run up his back. “ **_I have great plans for you._ ** ”


	7. Chapter 7

The sunlight at high noon was in full view even at the center of the Lowlander’s bowl. It pounded on the sand and bounced back up harshly into Sarah’s eyes; it left the world feeling washed, starkly color blanched in the intense light. The only things left undistorted was the pants of the Lowlanders. A crowd gathered around them in their village square, a full ring of spectators giving them wide berth, but eager to catch a glimpse of their hobbled forms.

“Do you deny being the one called Killer King?” A voice called from the crowd. The Lowlander called Jack, the one with red pants who brought them in, stepped forward giving a face to the voice.

“I do not deny that was my name once,” Brendon replied, turning to face Jack. 

“Was that not Killer King I saw in that mountain valley?” Jack asked, shocked and angry. “Was that not him who raised a hand to kill Alex?”

Brendon allowed the crowd to whisper amongst themselves while he took a moment to think before he spoke. “I have committed many acts of violence in my life, but I have put the killing behind me. I will only raise my hand to defend myself or those I love.”

“And what of the ones we loved? The ones you raised your hands to kill?” Jack threw back.

“I do not deny I took them from you, but that-” Brendon started.

Jack cut him off, “There are no excuses that can make up for the lives you took. There is only one justice great enough. Blood must have blood, your suffering for our suffering.” 

At that Sarah felt her bonds being yanked, she was pulled towards an edge of the crowd, towards Jack. She could see him pulling a knife, the same knife he held to her throat yesterday, from a holster on his thigh. 

They were going to kill her. They were going to kill her and make Brendon watch. Make him watch then kill him too. Blood for blood, suffering for suffering. 

When she was reeled in to finally meet Jack, he spun her around and put the blade at her throat; just like she suspected. In this position she could see Brendon just a dozen meters away from her. He looked distraught, pain and disbelief on his face so strong she hadn’t seen anything like it since they were back in the city. Living in the city felt like a lifetime ago. 

And it had been a lifetime, because Sarah had lived a new life out in the Desert. And this Sarah didn’t lay down to die.

In one fluid motion Sarah lifted both an arm and one leg and jabbed them back into Jack’s rib cage and knee respectively. In his pain and shock his grip faltered and she managed to wriggle her way out of his arms. On the way down the knife’s edge caught just below the hollow of her throat. She could feel a thin stream of blood bubble to the surface and run down her chest as she fell to the ground. Dust was caked to the blood wet skin and fabric as she hurriedly scrambled forward, away from Jack and towards Brendon. She expected a hand to fall on her ankle at any moment, dragging her back, but it never came.

Instead she heard screams and the pounding of running feet all around her. She looked up from the ground towards where Brendon should be, but he wasn’t there. The spectators that had been surrounding them were running madly in a thousand different ways. Confused, Sarah looked back over her shoulder to see if Jack was still there, in his place stood Brendon on top of three twitch and awkward bodies. Deep red liquid seeping into the dust, he stood heaving over them with blood splashed on his face and hands. His eyes were a sandstorm of fury, this was a Brendon she knew but had not seen in a long time. Not since the first days when they brought him into the lab, when he was still the Killer King that the people of the Desert feared.

“Brendon,” she called, making her way to standing.

His attention snapped to her. He looked up and down with confusion. The mad, glazed over look was still in his eyes, but without the former heat.

“ _ Baby it’s me, Sarah, _ ” she had lulled him out of violent episodes before, but never one as intense as this.

She dared to take a step forward. Then another. And another. Until she was standing in front of him, in his space. He tried to take a step back, but she put a gentle hand on his face and pulled him in for a soft kiss. He startled at first, making him unresponsive until all in one breath he seemed to melt. He pulled away looking surprised.

“ _ What… what happened? _ ” He asked looking around at the chaos.

“ _ I explain on the road, _ ” she said as he took his hand, leading them out of the town square and towards a carved stairway in the bowl’s side. “ _ We need to get out of here. _ ”

“ _ There is no where else to go. We went North and found nothing, the Killjoy valley was the only place in the Desert where my tribe would have no reason to go to. Now that is not safe.” _

_ “There is one place. We can’t be in the Desert, so we’ll go to the City.”  _

Brendon stopped at that, no doubt remembering the lab he was brought into. 

“ _ Hey look at me _ ,” Sarah said bringing his hand to her face. “ _ I’ll die before I let that happen again.” _

He looked from her the horizon, where the noon sun illuminated a distant and tiny skyline of the city.

“ _ Let’s go. _ ”


	8. Prologue: The Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter is supposed to be an Audio Journal I made a mini podfic of just this chapter. listen to that if you want the full in universe experience, but the text is also posted below if you prefer to read it.

Link to the audio version of the chapter [found here](https://soundcloud.com/scarlet-cross-183619445/audio-journal-of-dr-sarah-orzechowski). Text transcript below.

The Audio Journal of Dr. Sarah  Orzechowski

Entry #213: We have received radio communications from Korse and his Draculoid unit byond the zones that they have secured another sample group of desert locals. There have been dozens of batches of desert renegades we’ve had brought in for this experimental series. I’ve have only been on this project for the last 2 months, so this is my first time seeing the intake of new test subjects. I’m excited to see the desert locals in their unrehabilitated state. All of the ones I’ve had the privilege to work with before have already be well into their rehabilitation or even fully reprogrammed and ready for release into the general public. I hope I can take my observations and use them to further the project. With the new intakes I will be keeping more thorough audio journals over the next few weeks or months or how ever long, to record my thoughts and observations lest I need to return to refresh my memory.

Entry #218: Radio communications have confirmed the new arrivals will be ready for intake tomorrow morning. One of my superiors has warned me the Desert locals can be unnerving and disturbing before their rehabilitation starts, yet I still can’t help myself from being excited. One of the more cooperative subjects that is well into her rehabilitation has been helping inform myself and my team about the cultural and geological landscape of the desert beyond the zones. We’ve come to the understanding that many of the people in the desert live and travel in tribal cultures. She has been willing to make a list of some of the distinctive features and outlined geographical locations of all the tribes she knew about. I asked about our new intakes who were picked up just in the Eastern region of the Dunes. I told her they were found wearing brown robes and with faces painted yellow and black and her face went pale. She explained that in the desert that particular group was called the Scarecrows. She even went as far as to plead with me not to bring them in, that they would wreak havoc on the program. I couldn’t help but laugh, such a funny idea that a group of renegades could affect us at Better Living Industries.

Entry #219: I saw them this morning and it was… I knew it might be unnerving but...no, no it was terrifying. They were... ferrel. There were 5 of them at intake and they had already been cleaned and dressed in standard scrubs, but they… I don’t know exactly how to describe it, but they held themselves in a way that was just wrong. A strange mix between animalistic and prideful. They kept shouting at each other in what appeared to be a different language. At least that part wasn’t unusual, most of the subjects brought in did not speak our language and had to be taught. Four of them were separated and segregated in the isolation rooms for intake to calm down. Their medication doses will start tonight when they receive their evening meal. Standard protocol states medication begins with insertion into food and fluid intake until therapy has progressed enough that they are ready to take oral pills. The fifth subject was brought in already sedated, at first I was furious until the Draculoid captain showed me footage of the fifth subject assaulting and killing 2 of the men in his unit. It was necessary to bring him, they assured me.

Entry #223: Subject #5, the one that had to be brought in sedated, of the new Scarecrow intakes has been assigned to me. This morning when I came in his file was on my desk, and there isn’t much in it. The location of his capture, what medication he’s currently taking, any decipherable medical history, a physical profile, and an assumed age of approximately early 20s. There was also a note attached from my supervisor, “Crack this one and we’ll see about leadership.” normally that would be grounds for celebration, but I’ve got a long road ahead of me. Right now I’m sitting in the observation section of his room. There’s a plexiglass barrier separating him and myself and he spent the first hour beating on it when I first sat down. Now he’s pacing and keeps obsessivly rubbing two scars on his forearms while mumbling to himself. He’s manic and I’m sceptical there’s much to be done for him. But who knows, some of our earliest test subject have been in the program for nearly 6 years and a few of them have just recently be released into the general city population. Maybe there’s hope for #5 yet, all he needs is a few years of medication and therapy.

Entry #257: Electro shocks have proven effective as a good form of negative reinforcement. #5 no longer shouts or screams in his native language. He has taken to a few of our words, he also seems to be exceptionally intelligent. Not only does he know the word ‘food’ he also appears to have a rudimentary understanding of time, or at the very least schedule. He will ask for his meals at their designated times. He also appears to have learned my name, because he will ask the attendant on duty “Food, Sarah?” so now I’m here in the observation room again watching him eat the food I just gave him… and… he just offered me an orange slice. He held it out and pushed it into the tray intake and outtake slot while looking at me. I… don’t know if there’s a protocol for that. I need to ask my supervisor.

Entry #280: Subject #5 has been taking oral pill medication for nearly a month now and so far is proving the most stable out of his intake group. Two of them died, one of unknown medical shock and the other killed herself. The other two are progressing, but more slowly and with more side effects to the medication and therapy. I asked my supervisor if #5 could be released from solitary and allowed to socialize in the community room with the rest of the subjects. I think he’s holding remarkably steady and showing excellent signs of growth. He now only speaks when he know words in our language, I think more exposure could be just the rehabilitation he needs.

Entry #281: Community room time was a disaster. As soon as I opened the door something in #5 just changed, I watched as in two seconds as he completely reverted back to what he looked like on intake day. He killed 3 subjects with a pencil before a Draculoid could restrain him, then he killed that Draculoid and assaulted another that came to assist. He had to be sedated to get him back into his room. Today was just a mess.

Entry #303: Subject #5 is showing signs of mental fatigue. He isn’t sleeping well, and twice now since his outburst in the community room he has had similar reversions. He’s been irritated and violent in most of his therapy sessions and is refusing to take his oral medication pills so medicated food has been reinstated for him. Also now he will only eat food when I give it to him. I’ve taken to giving him his meals and then sitting in the observation room to eat mine. Today was the first day he attempted to talk to me during our daily meal, “Why leave?” he asked followed by “Where go?” I attempted to tell him this was my job and I had to leave at the end of the day to go home but I don’t know how much of it he understood. It’s become clear to me his speech lessons have taught him enough that he can follow conversations listing, but speaking to respond is much more difficult. Maybe I’ll ask the physician tomorrow at his exam if there is anything wrong with his vocal chords. 

Entry #347: Today was a measure of 2 steps forward and one step back. Subject #5 was having a minor regression, waking in a fit of hysterics this morning. He screamed and lashed out which was considerably normal, but this is one of the first times all of his screams have been in the correct language. A step in the right direction for sure, another good step forward is he used the name “Brendon” in his outburst. Later after he had calmed down I tried saying the name to him and he responded as if it was his name. I suppose I’ll have to start referring to him as Brendon now and not #5. Hopefully that will help with his mental fatigue, he isn’t sleeping well and the sleep he does get is uneasy and many mornings he’ll wake with regression fits and only calm when I come in to see him.

Entry #358: Brendon was moved to a new room today, the original one needing cleaning and minor repairs. I believed him to be stable enough to be lead to the room with just myself and one other Draculoid standing guard, and for once with him I got it right. He didn’t try to run or have a regression and didn’t seem to have an objection to the guiding hand I kept on his back. The new room is one in a lower security section of the lab so it has a window built into one of the walls. The window overlooks the outskirts of Battery city and the surrounding zones. Brendon went immediately to the window and pressed his face against the glass. He didn’t even wait to have his straight jacket removed so I had to go in to take it off him. When I finally got it off he seized my wrist and I immediately started to panic but then he only pressed my hand to the glass and said “Look” while staring out into the desert sunset. He looked almost...Homesick.”

Entry #375: Brendon’s condition has gotten worse. At first I thought the room with a window might be good for him, but it soon turned out to be the opposite. He continues to take his medication and attend therapy but he still withers. He is at the point now with his speech that he can carry on little conversations with me. After the room change there wasn’t an observation section but so far that hasn’t been a problem. I can sit in his room with him while he takes his meals and we have our little conversations. We mostly talk about his treatment and my future plans for him, but sometimes out of professional curiosity I’ll let him talk about his life before in the desert. His eyes light up when he talks about the past.

Entry #394 Brendon has taken a turn for the worst. Today when we were having one of our meal time chats a Draculoid entered the room unannounced to look for me. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but Brendon had his back to the door, so when it opened it startled him and he attacked the Draculoid. I had never seen him in a regression so close before, his body moved like it was on autopilot. After the Draculoid was dead Brendon froze, I had never seen him do that before either. He stared at the body like he was confused, well confused and upset. Like he didn’t realize his body had done that. Before I could get to him three more Draculoids rushed into the and in the comotion knocked Brendon out. Now I’m watching him in his bed sleeping, he’s been out for over 5 hours which is far longer than he’s slept at any one point in weeks. He’s frantic in his sleep, tossing and half yelling half moaning nonsense to himself like he can’t escape something.

Entry #414 The last scarecrow test subject died nearly a month ago. Brendon is sole survivor of his group, but he seems to be falling into the same path as the other scarecrows who died of medicinal complications. The only thing more terrifying than that is the knowledge the others were only half as far gone as Brendon is now. His last violent outburst was almost 3 weeks ago, a new record, but the trade off is he’s now a languid form. He used to pace and jitter almost constantly, now as I look at him melted into his bed, eyes closed but not sleeping I wish for the old version of him. He told me today in stuttered sentences, a loose vocabulary trying to articulate a complex topic, that in death he would be no different than in life. His tribe had a belief in a god and that when they died they became a part of their god but he already was a part of her. He said he was living and dead so transitioning to being just dead shouldn’t be too hard. I can’t help but to think, I don’t want him to transition.

Entry #417 Final entry, if I don’t do this now it will be too late in a day or two. I know Brendon still has most of his strength and can be compelled to use it if necessary. He had his first outburst in a month but he was still able to take down another test subject in the hall, though the Draculoid that can to stop was able to put him down before he killed anyone. Not the wild Brendon that first came in here, but hopefully one strong enough to make it out of the city. I won’t… I can’t watch him die in here. I still see him looking out the window and I still see the love and hope in his eyes. Tonight there is a corporate party at the Chairwoman’s penthouse, the whole staff has been invited which means tonight there will be a Draculoid skeleton crew running the lab. My plan is to slip in release Brendon lead him to the sewers so he can get out of the city then I’ll have to go underground. Ha, forget any dreams of leadership opportunities, they’ll probably reprogram me if they catch me. I’m leaving this research record in a hidden compartment in my apartment. Only I know where it is. If I make it back I’ll destroy it before I go into hiding, if not hopefully I can use this account to undo the reprogramming. And if someone else is listening to this, I don’t know what kind of fate I met.


End file.
